La Cage aux Folles
by don'tlikehugs18
Summary: John and Sherlock have been together for a while now, but all that seems in jeopardy when a young woman walks into to 221B with a problem that changes everything. Based on The Birdcage.


**A/N- I watched The Birdcage recently and that started the idea swirling in my head. Then seeing Robin Williams' face everywhere kept reminding me of this half formed plot concept. I decided to give it a shot. It's been a couple years since I published anything and it's been several years since I attempted a multi-chapter fic. Please let me know what you think, smiley faces and/or anonymous reviews will do. Hope you enjoy.**

221B Baker Street's timeless façade was known by old and young alike as the home of the world's only consulting detective. Very little about the building had changed during the last twenty years. The door was still black with brass numbers and the knocker was slightly off-center. The occupants of the building were succumbing to time's endless march with as much grace as possible. Both men had a little more gray in their hair and a few more lines on their faces, but were still energetically solving cases all over London as often as they could.

Many people were surprised that John moved back to Baker Street after Mary passed away, but to him it was only logical. Who else did he have to turn to? And, truthfully, who else would he rather live with than the man who had already fulfilled so much in his life? Sherlock accepted John back into his world as if he'd never left. Slowly, their relationship progressed from best friends to partners in every sense of the word. John struggled long and hard over bending the concept of his sexuality to include his love for Sherlock, but when he finally adjusted, he settled happily into his new lifestyle. When presenting his declaration of love to Sherlock, he was met with a stare that said "Obviously," a swift kiss, and then a flurry of activity as Sherlock single-handedly moved John's belongings into his room ("The better to organize them John!"). That was that and nearly twenty years had passed in what passed for domestic bliss at 221B: cases, adrenaline rushes, laughter, chemistry in the kitchen, shouting matches, gun shots, and tea.

The trouble all started when Sally Donovan showed up at 221B with a new case. Since taking over as DI after Lestrade's retirement, Sally had begrudgingly accepted Sherlock's abilities and continued the Yard's tradition of calling on the consulting detective when they were in over their heads. Despite her promotion and the passage of years, very little had changed in their working relationship. Sherlock would snipe, Sally would snap, but in the end he got the case and she got a prisoner behind bars. John was usually amused at their antics, but her appearance and this case kicked off his odd behavior.

It was little things at first. There was a new brand of tea in the cabinet, John had had private conversations with their new landlady, and there were furtive texts sent from crime scenes. Even now, as Sherlock paced the second crime scene this week, John seemed more absorbed in his own thoughts and glances at his phone than Sherlock's deductions. At this sudden lack of audience, Sherlock's mood shifted from elation over the case to sullen and sulky. John was so absorbed in his phone he didn't notice the change. Sherlock's demeanor became distinctly icy. This was rapidly falling in the category of not good. Some of the more observant of the Met were noticing and sending sympathetic glances toward Sherlock while simultaneously starting the gossip mill. As John grew more distant, Sherlock spiraled farther into a sulk. He snapped at all questions, even the ones that could be considered relevant and rattled off the rest of his deductions in a distinctly biting manner. John only took notice of Sherlock's behavior when he finally stomped from the scene, announcing he was headed to Bart's. The tension between them broke on the sidewalk.

As Sherlock stood stiff with rage, arm raised to wave down any oncoming cabs, John finally spoke. "You go ahead. I'm going to head home. I'm completely knackered." He didn't make eye contact the entire time he spoke. Obviously lying.

"You're lying. Why?" Sherlock turned his icy glare on his partner. He could handle new tea, he could deal with private conversations, he could overlook sneaking text messages, but when John began lying, something was incredibly wrong. A nearly microscopic part of Sherlock shivered in fear at what all this may imply. He heroically stomped it down and focused on anger instead.

"I'm not lying." John's head whipped around from where he'd been studying the skyline and boldly met Sherlock's eyes. He was still lying, but making an attempt to cover it now. This only served to make Sherlock angrier and he glared down at John. Neither of them budged until the cab pulled up, slicing through the tension. Without a word, Sherlock turned and whirled into the back, slamming the door in John's face. As he rode away, John's phone buzzed once more and he became immediately absorbed in his text conversation while making his way to the nearest Tube station that would take him home.

In the cab, Sherlock blinked long and slow as he filed this incident away. There was a case on. He didn't have time to focus on sentiment. Let John lie. He'd confront him when he got home. For now, there were bodies requiring his attention and data that needed organizing.


End file.
